Charlie was an idealistic LA policeman fresh from the police academy, out to reform his corrupt precinct. So the corrupt cops in the precinct decide to get rid of him, but in a unique, untraceable way - via a demonic curse. But they didn't count on his guardian angel and a magical mix tape...

Police officer Charles Townsend was a good cop, and did his best to live on the straight-and-narrow and be an upstanding police officer. But police officers don’t really make a lot of money so it’s sometimes hard not to take advantage of his position. Many of the guys were on the take, but, though he wasn’t one of them, he was a team player so he had no intention of busting them.

Still, if you were on the take, would you trust a goody-two-shoes not to blow the whistle on you, even a good kid like Charlie?

It wasn’t surprising to find Charlie in that second-hand car lot that Saturday. It was full of a lot of really bad second-hand cars, but that was the only kind he could afford on his salary. A couple of the guys in the precinct tried to bribe him with really good cars – they were his but only under certain… “conditions.” He politely declined, as he usually does these things. And then, the worst of the bunch, Detective Eric Knox, gave him a tip about a place that sold second-hand cars. He didn’t trust Knox much, but there was no harm to check it out. He desperately needed a car, after all.

When he got to the lot, it was pretty scary. The owner was this creepy guy who wore a cape and had his hair slicked back. He wore what looked like devil contact lenses, and actually cackled when he told him that he was sent by Det. Knox to look at a car.

The man threw his arm up and thunder and lightning exploded all around him despite the fact it was a sunny Saturday afternoon. Charlie jumped and started to shake a little.

“Pick whatever you like,” he said in a deep, echoing voice, and Charlie almost ran just to get away from him.

He looked over his selection of crappy cars and gravitated to the Mustang at the very back. He didn’t know why, but it was like the car was calling to him. It was a white ’76 Mustang Cobra II with two blue stripes down the middle. He inspected the car and it turned out to be as bad as a forty-year-old car could be – faded paint, rust, scratches, dings and dents, almost-bald tires with mismatched rims. But the owner suddenly appeared by his elbow and insisted he try it out.

It was actually not too bad. Sure he had a lot of stuff to fix, but the car was basically sound – the engine sounded fine, and the shocks were okay. So he forked over the cash, got the papers, threw his backpack into the back seat and drove the car out of the creepy, decrepit lot at high speed.

After a while, his fear faded away and he slowed the car down a bit.

After half an hour of driving, he started to get bored. He looked at the dash and saw that the car had a radio-tape deck. Just his luck, the radio wasn’t working.

He rummaged through the glove compartment full of junk. He found an old cassette tape. The hand-written note in the plastic case liner said: “Charlie – pop the cassette in the player now! Otherwise, you’re dead. Jill.”

The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. That was scary. He took the cassette out. It was labeled “Jill’s mix tape.”

“Why the hell not,” he thought, popped it into the player, and, wonder of wonders – it ran!

He didn’t bother to rewind (because he didn’t know he had to with cassettes) and the first song he heard was an old song, “That Old Black Magic,” as sung by Frank Sinatra.

He had forgotten his sunglasses so he lowered the sun visor. A little note, hidden in the visor, fell onto his lap. It said “for Charlie” on top. He unfolded it and the note said the following:

“So, Charlie. Hope you enjoy your new car, even though you’re not going to have it long. You see, a few minutes after you read my note, you’re going to die. That’s because the car’s been cursed. Any man who touches the car will die. You thought you were better than us, huh? Well, this is what you get. Goodbye, Charlie – Eric Knox.”

After he finished the note, the paper burst into flame in his fingers and crumbled to ashes. After it did, he heard the cackling of a crazy man. It was the cackling of the owner of the car lot! And as the cackling grew louder and louder, the car started to swerve out of control.

Charlie grimly held onto the steering wheel and did his best to control the car, but it fought him, and was steering him into opposing traffic. In the background, he could hear Frank Sinatra singing.

“That old black magic has me in its spell,” Frank Sinatra sang. “That old black magic that you weave so well. Those icy fingers up and down my spine. The same old witchcraft when your eyes meet mine.”

In desperation, so that he didn’t hurt anyone else, Charlie deliberately steered away and to the right.

When he did, the speakers squealed, and Frank was cut off mid-song.

The old Mustang smashed through the guardrail and crashed into the sandy strip between the sea and the rocks bordering the highway.

After an indeterminate amount of time, he woke up again, woozy but mostly okay. He thought he was a goner. As he sat up, he noted that the car seemed to be incredibly in one piece, and as he looked around, he found that the mix tape was still running, because a new song started to play.

As he looked himself over, looking for broken bones or whatever, he heard the beginnings of a song he recognized.

“A Goddess on a mountain top,” the girl sang, “was burning like a silver flame. The summit of beauty and love, and Venus was her name.”

It wasn’t the version he remembered. A different band was singing, but it was okay.

“She's got it. Yeah, baby, she's got it... Well, I'm your Venus. I'm your fire, your desire. Well, I'm your Venus, I'm your fire, your desire.”

He noticed that, as the song played, odd feelings raced through him. He looked at the rear view, and it was like his face was changing.

“Her weapons were her crystal eyes,” the girl on the mix tape sang, “making every man mad.”

His eyes turned bright green and his hair started growing longer.

“Black as the dark night she was,” the singer sang. “Got what no-one else had. Wow!”

He looked down and his t-shirt started to change, growing shorter and tighter. He could now see his tummy, which had grown smaller and tighter.

“She's got it. Yeah, baby, she's got it, Well, I'm your Venus. I'm your fire, your desire.”

The top of his shirt started to bulge. He had breasts now.

“Well, I'm your Venus. I'm your fire, your desire.”

More changes raced through the rest of her.

“She's got it. Yeah, baby, she's got it. Well, I'm your Venus. I'm your fire, your desire. Well, I'm your Venus. I'm your fire, your desire…”

The song faded away, and the weird feelings faded away, too. He opened the door and stepped out to see things a little better. As he stood, nothing felt normal anymore. Looking down, he saw breasts pushing the top of his new cutoff t-shirt out. He noticed that his arms were now slimmer and his black diver’s watch was replaced by a slim white women’s sports watch. And his fingers…

He saw his legs and noticed that he wasn’t wearing his old jeans anymore. A pair of tattered women’s cutoff jean shorts replaced it, and instead of his old high-tops, he was now wearing women’s high-heeled low boots.

The hip-hugging pants displayed his new, slimmer, smoother and sexier legs to full effect, and with the boobs…

He jumped back into the car, slammed the door and looked into the rearview.

Staring back at him was someone he didn’t recognize - a beautiful girl’s face, beautiful crystal-green eyes, long, blonde hair styled in a long-layered feathered shag, with large, loose curls.

Wow.

He didn’t know what to do, but he definitely didn’t want to stick around. He started the engine and was about to step on the accelerator when he heard the next song on the mix tape - ZZ Top’s eighties hit, “Legs.”

“She's got legs,” the song went, “she knows how to use them. She never begs - she knows how to choose them. She's holdin' leg wonderin' how to feel them. Would you get behind them if you could only find them?”

As he listened to the song, Charlie looked at his new legs. He had to admit he had thosw kind of legs now.

He drove off the sand and onto the access road. He had to drive a little slow because of all the people and kids. They were all looking at him.

When he got back on the highway, he gunned the engine and drove on towards his little apartment.

“She's got hair down to her fanny,” the song continued. “She's kinda jet set, try undo her panties. Every time she's dancin' she knows what to do. Everybody wants to see if she can use it.”

Charlie wondered if his hair was down to his fanny now, and he squirmed a bit as he felt his new cutoff jeans had climbed up between his legs. He reached down and pulled it out to be more comfortable.

As he drove on, newer songs on the mix tape played. There was Cyndi Lauper’s “Girls Just Want to Have Fun” followed by “Centerfold” by the J. Geils Band.

Charlie was starting to see a kind of theme to Jill’s mix tape. “Wonder if it has something to do with these changes,” he thought. He looked down at his new boobs and the driver of the car beside him leaned on his horn. He jerked the wheel and got back in his lane.

Eventually, Charlie pulled up in front of his apartment. He switched off, stepped out and reached into his jean’s pocket for the apartment keys but it wasn’t there. He reached for his backpack, which had mysteriously turned into a tiny fuchsia girl’s backpack. Inside was his key ring.

He then went to the apartment door but when he looked, he couldn’t find the key. He tried all the keys but all of them didn’t work. He went back to the car defeated, and sat in the driver’s seat.

He decided to look in his new backpack and found a little white girl’s wallet. In it he found a driver’s license for a girl named Jill Munroe. Blonde hair, green eyes, 5’7”, 130 pounds, et cetera. She had the same birthday as him, and the picture was for the girl he appeared to be now.

Noting the address, he started the car again and drove there.

Months later, an incredibly attractive blonde wearing a police academy uniform - long-sleeved light-blue shirt with patches, tie, belt, navy-blue slacks and patent-leather shoes - climbed up the steps to the LA Times offices.

Thirty minutes later, she left the newspaper office, got into her mint-condition white vintage ‘76 Mustang Cobra II with two blue stripes down the middle, and drove away towards the LA Police Academy compound.

Charlie had just dropped a packet of correspondence, forms, reports, financial documents, and surveillance material at the LA Times office, all relating to Detective Eric Knox. She was confident that the crooked, evil cop will soon be out on his ass and charged with several criminal and homicide charges, one of them the murder of Police Officer Charles Townsend. Six months ago, the body, her old body, was found on the beach where she crashed through the guardrail, the victim of multiple gunshots.

The LA Times people promised that they wouldn’t use her name, but she wasn’t worried even if her name leaked out. “Just let Knox and his goons try something,” she thought. She was more than ready for them now.

“Knox was right,” Jill thought. Any man who touched her car would die. Good thing she wasn’t a man…

Charlie was getting used to her new life as Jill Munroe, and it wasn’t such a bad life. She had a lot of friends now, typical for a hottie like her. And soon she’d be graduating from the Police Academy, and would start work as a full-fledged police officer. She was hoping she and her new best friends, Sabrina Duncan and Kelly Garrett, would be assigned to the same precinct. Who knows?

Jill parked her Mustang in the outside parking lot and hurried to her next class.

She wasn’t worried about her car anymore. Lots of guys have touched it and even ridden in it since that “accident,” and nothing bad has happened to them. She was sure that Jill’s mix tape, the original Jill, that is, had gotten rid of the curse somehow. Someday, she’ll look into it, and maybe find out more about her, her car and her magical mix tape.

Jill rushed. She couldn’t afford to be late. Some of her classmates hooted and whistled as she passed (they wouldn’t have dared if they were inside, otherwise they’d probably be booted out of the academy). But she was used to that by now. They couldn’t help it. She was an incredible hottie, after all.

In her head, she heard that song again from the mix tape - “Venus” by Shocking Blue. Truth be told, though, she liked Bananarama’s version, but the original was still okay.

“She's got it,” the song went. “Yeah, baby, she's got it. Well, I'm your Venus. I'm your fire, your desire.”

“Yep,” she thought “I definitely got it. Maybe I should change my name to Venus.”

She giggled as she stepped into the classroom. She waved to Sabrina and Kelly, and took her seat beside them. The three of them had become fast friends, and had been inseparable since they became classmates in the Academy. She wouldn’t be surprised if they’d be friends for a long, long time.

Note - The pictures used were collages made from publicly accessible pictures of the Charlie’s Angels TV show. No ownership is claimed. No IP infringement is intended.